10 Signs That Your 4-Year-Old is Smarter Than You or Your Spouse

10. During lunch your 4-year-old informs you that the strawberries you are eating are the only fruit that has seeds on the outside, and you realize for the first time that those little things on strawberries are seeds.

9. When you tell your 4-year-old that you’re not exactly sure how the doctor got his baby sister out of your tummy, he replies exasperated, “Mom! You were there!“

8. Your 4-year-old has tested your understanding of the Trinity by asking, “How did Jesus make people when He was a baby here (as in ‘not in heaven’)?” You are tempted to just tell him about sex instead.

7. When his sister says she sees a cow as you drive by a pasture, your 4-year-old exclaims, “I see a Yak!” Your husband and you then spend five minutes debating with each other what a yak is.

6. You scold your four-year-old for disconnecting the wires from his daddy’s speakers and then watch attentively as he rewires them.

5. You didn’t know how to use the ipod on your iphone until your four-year-old showed you.

4. You thought you showed your four-year-old who’s boss by throwing out the rest of his Easter candy after he repeatedly snuck treats only to find out that he anticipated your moves and hid his own reserve stash. He’s the boss.

3. You try to avoid a temper tantrum by not telling your four-year-old that your husband and you are going to a baseball game for a date. When he asks where you are going, you reply, “It’s a surprise” to which he replies, “But I’m not going to be there! How can I be surprised?”

2. Your four-year-old still knows who ran for president from both parties in the last election; meanwhile, it takes you three chances to call your children by the correct name.

1. When your four-year-old asks his daddy if the foot he is holding up is his left foot, your husband holds up his own thumb and forefinger on each hand to see which one makes the ‘L’ shape.

Check out more Top Ten lists every Tuesday at ohamanda.com!

The Crazy Old Bat and Football

Many people assume the children were to blame for making the old lady crazy, and while they did their part, there were other factors. Genetics surely came into play, as there were some nuts on both sides of the old woman’s family. However, there was one more culprit that people were quick to overlook–the old lady’s husband.

Mr. Davis was a good man, and one would be hard-pressed to find another who disagreed. The old lady loved her husband very much, and he loved her, and they shared a marriage full of joyous memories.

When Mrs. Davis thought of her husband, by no means did she picture a stoic man. He was always affectionate to his children and could laugh at a good joke. However, the crazy old bat would never say that Mr. Davis was emotional. In fact, due to her own penchant for drama, she would sometimes wish that he were a little less self-controlled.

For example, on her wedding day, the crazy old lady secretly hoped that the beauty she radiated as a new bride would produce such a wellspring of emotion in her new husband that he would not be able to contain the little tears that would pool in his eyes. Yet on that day, the old woman (then young, of course) did not get her wish. As she walked down the aisle, her soon-to-be-husband smiled, clearly delighted that his betrothed kept her promise to be his bride, but he was not moved to tears.

The crazy old lady wasn’t disappointed; after all, everyone reacts differently to different situations, but she was certain the birth of their first child would overwhelm her husband. She had a difficult labor, and when that little boy finally emerged, the only tears came from him and his mother. His father looked emotionally spent, probably from worrying the last few hours but, again, did not cry.

Perhaps Mr. Davis would cry at the birth of his first daughter. This labor was uneventful, no worrying necessary, so he could enjoy her birth and allow the happiness of his little girl’s arrival to wash over him producing that single tear. When the little girl entered the world, Mrs. Davis glanced at her husband and again noticed a smile but no tears.

The crazy old lady was not crazy yet, so she knew better than to look for tears at the birth of their third child. Mr. Davis and she rejoiced at the speedy surprise that was their second little girl but kept the dramatics to a minimum. In fact, the only thing dramatic about this birth was how quickly the entire labor and delivery happened.

So given her history with Mr. Davis, the crazy old woman was a little bewildered on January 1st of 2010. As she was cleaning up in the kitchen, she happened to look over at her husband who was red in the face and whose eyes appeared to be watering. She followed his gaze to the T.V. and noticed the montage of football clips that he was watching. She must have missed something.

“What’s got you so emotional?” she asked, not knowing if there were a good story behind one of the players that just flashed on the screen.

“I don’t know,” Mr. Davis replied.

Mrs. Davis’s gaze let her husband know that she needed a better explanation.

“Year-in-review college football reels always get me emotional.”

At that moment, one of the synapses in the crazy old bat’s brain sparked and fizzled out forever.

The Haircut

I debated whether or not to write this post. I mean, what’s so interesting about a haircut? But this event hasn’t left my mind since it happened three nights ago. When a thought stays with me this long, I know either God is trying to tell me something, or I have another writing topic brewing. Obviously, I decided I had a topic brewing.

For Christmas, one of the gifts from my mom was a set of kids’ hair clippers. Initially, I was a little surprised. I didn’t ask for hair clippers, and I wasn’t sure if she were insinuating something. Yes, my son’s hair was covering his eyes and, frankly, was kind of a mess, but in a cool way, of course. Once I decided how I should feel about this present, I made use of it (my mom assured me that she wasn’t insinuating anything. She thought they would come in handy since I had a son and was always looking for ways to save money.).

After learning everything I needed to know about cutting hair from the ten minute video, I proceeded to give Caleb a trim; however, his hair was too long for the clippers. I went straight for the scissors and did a decent job.

Feeling confident and anxious to try the clippers (I watched the video twice–I was an expert), I told Matt I should cut his hair. He needed a haircut, anyway, and I would save us money. He agreed.

So a few nights later after the kids were in bed and all the chores were finished, Matt sat down in a chair in the kitchen with a bright blue smock around his neck. Matt proceeded to explain that he wanted a ‘fade’, and we discussed the strategy for cutting his hair.

I looked over the written directions for this particular style and contemplated whether or not I should put back in my instructional DVD. After going over the plan with Matt a couple more times, we decided I was ready. I let Matt adjust the guard setting and got to work.

As I moved the clippers up the back of his head and watched his hair fall to the floor, I was gripped with a sudden realization–I didn’t know how to cut hair. I felt a twinge of panic as I looked at the clock that read 10:30. If I messed up, Matt had no recourse. He would have to go to work in the morning with whatever style I gave him.

Matt must have already dealt with this scenario in his mind because he did mention that if I messed up, he would completely buzz his head. This option was not one that I was willing to accept.

An hour later, with some guidance from Matt (he grew a little weary of my apprehension and aggressively used the clippers on himself at one point), I finally achieved ‘the fade.’ We played with different guard settings, and I used the scissors to trim and blend until I was satisfied that I had achieved the look. Or to put it more accurately, I cut until I was afraid to cut Matt’s hair any shorter.

I have to admit that I did a good job. Matt’s hair looked normal, and I had reached a milestone in my life. I could now give my family haircuts.

However, this pride was not the feeling that has stayed with me for the past three days. Instead, gratitude has consumed me. When I think of last Sunday night, I can’t help but remember one of the thoughts that entered my mind: “Matt and I are truly a married couple.”

Many times when I have said, “Well, you can tell we’re married,” I wasn’t paying Matt and me a compliment. We may have been snipping at each other at the time, or I was commenting on our lack of romance as we fell asleep on the couch for the seventh Friday in a row. What I felt Sunday was different.

Here I was cutting my husband’s hair when I didn’t know how, yet Matt trusted me. Or maybe he didn’t, but he was giving me the chance to try. It was really strange, but I felt that we were sharing an intimate moment as I ran the clippers across his head.

I’m sure Matt will read this post and think that he has a crazy wife. It was a haircut, not a religious experience, yet for me, it was more. I felt comfort in our marriage and knew that we had moved beyond the early years when we were still trying to figure out how to live in this new union, still slightly embarrassed to make a mistake in front of the other person.

Let’s be honest–had we been just dating, this incident would not have occurred. I have to have complete trust in a person in order to let him or her cut my hair. In fact, I experience a case of nerves any time I try a new stylist, so I feel privileged that Matt let me experiment on him. I, also, have to have complete trust in a person to willingly set myself up for failure.

The last three nights that Matt has come home I couldn’t help but look at his hair and smile. I am grateful for a partner who is willing to let me fail, and on his own hair, no less, and I am blessed that we are “truly a married couple.” Maybe God has been trying to talk to me after all….

And, no, Matt. Even though we shared this intimate moment, you may not cut my hair next.

A Romance I Can Live With

I had a realization today, the kind of realization that stopped me mid-step and forced me to think about a whole chain of related ideas. And to be honest, the realization scared me a little.

My realization came on the tail-end of all my thoughts relating to why I hate most romance movies. For one, I just can’t relate. No, I do not want to go make love with my husband on a whim in a field under the stars. First, we’d have to get a baby-sitter, and I’d have to pump a bottle for the baby in case she woke up while we were gone. Then, we’d have to find a field, and we’d have to make sure we had enough cash on hand to post bond in case we got caught. Who has the energy?

The main reason I hate romance movies, though, is that they do a disservice to the institution of marriage and give people a false idea about what it means to be ‘in love.’ I don’t know if Matt is the person God chose for me or if I chose Matt with my free will. I do know that loving each other isn’t about how we feel on any given day–it’s a choice we make daily.

As I was thinking about how stupid most romance movies are, I began to think how much hard work marriage requires of me. Every day I wear myself out trying to be a good wife and mother. I cook, I clean, I repeatedly grab socks and underwear off the top of the hamper and put them inside it. I affirm my husband that he is an excellent provider, and I close my mouth when I can sense Matt doesn’t want to talk. I watch football and have given up all rights to the remote. When I don’t feel like being married, I resolve that I will stick it out forever and find those lovey-dovey feelings, wherever they may be–Matt is so lucky! I am quite the catch!

While I was patting myself on the back for my commitment, it suddenly occurred to me that Matt might be committed, too. Just as I work hard every day for this marriage, he might feel he works hard, as well. Sure, he has the easier job of the two of us given all of the sacrifices I make, but he could just as easily walk out as I. Not that he would want to. I mean, who wouldn’t want to come home to a wife whose hair is standing on end by 5:00 every evening, her face somehow sloped downward into a permanent frown, her shrill voice piercing the ears of everyone within the walls of the house? Who wouldn’t want to come home to a wife who so thoughtfully points out all of the mistakes he has made in an effort to make him a better spouse? If Matt walked out, where would he ever find another woman who looked so good in baggy pajama bottoms, t-shirts, and wooly socks?

As I continued on in my thoughts, I became frightened. Why would anyone want to stay with me forever? Since Chloe has been born, I have not felt myself, and my emotions have been out-of-control. I have no idea what the word ‘sexy’ means. In fact, I had forgotten that I owned lingerie until I accidentally opened that unused drawer. I fall asleep any time we try to relax together, and if I manage to stay awake but Matt falls asleep, I get mad at him.

Suddenly, all of the ‘hard work’ I was doing seemed ridiculous compared to the hard work Matt was doing. For the first time, I didn’t see all the effort required of me to make my marriage work but, instead, the mental effort Matt must go through every day. I saw a man who is truly demonstrating unconditional love, and through his example, I saw what it means for God to love me, a sinner, as well. Despite all of my faults as a wife, Matt has chosen to love me every day, and having that realization today humbled me in a way I hadn’t felt before.

So…I going to stop writing now. I’m tired, and I’m not sure I even expressed my thoughts well, but my husband is upstairs waiting. I’m going to carry my baggy-pajama-pants-self upstairs and plant a kiss on my soulmate. And then I’ll probably fall asleep.

Quality of Life 2: In Need of Lighter Fluid

It was a typical Friday evening. I was anxiously awaiting the arrival of my husband so we could have our ‘date night.’ I’m not really sure why I had gotten excited every Friday before; we never actually went anywhere and rarely had anything planned for the evening.

However, something about the day ‘Friday’ gave me high hopes for an exciting night–perhaps memories of when we dated in college and had plans every Friday (most Saturdays, too), memories of when we saw every movie we wanted, ate dinner at all our favorite restaurants in Athens, experienced concerts, theater–we were never out of ideas. Apparently, we were never out of money, either. Strange how things change, isn’t it?

We could decide at 11 P.M. that we wanted to go to Waffle House and have a late snack. We’d hang out with one another until way too late and carry on coherent conversations, unlike now where all dates must begin no later than 7:30 P.M. Once we cross the 9:00 mark, there’s no telling if anyone will be awake to remember the rest of the evening…

…so why I got excited all the previous Fridays was a mystery, but I was determined that this Friday would be different. We had three kids now and not a lot of money to spend on lavish evenings out, but we weren’t dead, for goodness’ sake! I decided to send Matt the following e-mail:

Pick one of the choices below (or add your own). After you choose your date, add the necessary ingredient(s) to the shopping list.

1. Game night–we can pass time playing cards or another game we find in the closet. Pick a candy to accompany this date. We can wager M&Ms or Reeses ( or a healthy version at Whole Foods) instead of poker chips.

2. A Quiet Evening–Recreate a book store. Throw pillows around the den (not the bedroom; we’ll fall asleep), and grab a book to read. We can relax in each other’s company while enjoying some literature. At the end of the bookstore date, we have to tell each other a little about what we read and if we would want to buy the book. Grab whatever you need to make a coffee or tea along with a coffee house dessert to split.

3. Secret Treasure–With eyes closed, reach into the DVD or VCR drawer, and whatever your hand chooses is what we have to watch! No exceptions! At the end of the movie, talk about what memories watching this movie invoked. Grab a munchy snack and/or Whoppers to accompany this date.

4. Plan your own date (but it has to show thought and have a communication component)

Matt replied that he liked the idea, and I spent the rest of the afternoon making sure the kids and I cleaned up everything as we went along. As soon as the kids hit their pillows, the only thing I wanted to do was put the dishes from dinner in the dishwasher and begin our date! Not knowing what idea Matt had picked made the coming evening all the more enticing.

Matt came home with Whoppers, and as I reached my hand into our movie drawer, we both had a little fear as to what I’d pull out–I was praying I hadn’t grabbed a Star Trek movie or the forever long The Lord Of the Rings. We laughed when I pulled out The Big Lebowski, a clear flashback to college, and munched on Whoppers (or at least Matt did–he loves them, I hate them) as we snuggled and started the movie.

An hour and a half later, I woke up on the couch feeling rather disappointed that we hadn’t succeeded in completing our date. Nonetheless, I had earlier felt something that I hadn’t felt in a while–giddiness. I actually felt a little giddy waiting for Matt and then sitting on the couch laughing with him. No, we hadn’t left our doors or done anything that amazing, but the fact that we made a definite plan for our evening together, a plan that was somewhat different from the other Fridays gave me a taste of the excitement from years earlier when I’d wait for Matt to knock at my door.

I guess the lesson I learned from this experience is that (1) I shouldn’t plan anything involving movies until Chloe is consistently sleeping through the night, and (2) ensuring that our marriage has a little of that thrill factor from years ago will take focus and commitment.

Life’s different now. We can’t hop in the car on a whim driving to our next adventure. We have three other lives for which we are responsible. They drain us emotionally and physically. At the end of the night, we have little left for each other.

Life’s different now…and it’s better. We have the fullness of a family, and we have no better opportunity to show our kids God’s love than how we treat each other in our marriage. It’s harder and may take a little more creativity, but it’s worth it to try to fan the flame or whatever other cliche’ one would like to use.

So…I need to brainstorm some ideas. Tomorrow’s Friday, and I’ll be darned if anybody’s going to fall asleep on the couch this time!

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Any relationship takes hard work, and those that matter most are worth the invested time. Last week, I asked what tips you all had for taking care of the environment. This week I want to know what tips you have for taking care of your most important relationships. If you are married or dating, do you have any cheap date night ideas? How do your preserve your friendships? Share your comments! Again, my hope is that we can all take away one idea to improve this part of our lives!

Quality of Life

Quality of Life 1: Calling All Tree-Huggers!

I would love to say that my family takes care of the environment, that we are friendly to Mother Earth, but I know the mess I seem to clean in the bathroom every day has to be toxic. When it comes to the dilemma of whether or not I allow my son to wash his hands on his own and risk him wasting water or doing it with him, I risk wasting water. On pizza night, I use paper plates, and every day we use a billion paper towels cleaning up messes. I know we have a long way to go in the quest to be a ‘green’ family, but we are making strides.

One such effort has been the conversion from disposable to cloth diapers. I NEVER thought I would be the mom to use cloth diapers, but here I am. A couple of years ago, I heard a radio personality say that any mother who says she cares about the environment but uses disposable diapers is a hyprocrite. He wasn’t making a plug for being green but instead trying to point out that his assistant who cares for environmental causes has no credibility because she didn’t use cloth diapers. I thought he was a jerk, came up with a thousand reasons for why every mother should use disposable diapers, and drove on my merry way.

But the seed was planted.

A few months after my first daughter was born, I thought to myself that I wanted to research this cloth diaper thing. I felt convicted that as a Christian I wasn’t doing more for the environment. I made it on the internet one day and was surprised at the world of cloth diapers. No pins, nothing too strange–even someone like me could do this! But I didn’t. Cloth-diapering requires an initial investment that we couldn’t make at the time, and life was too busy with a bouncing boy not quite two and a baby just a few months old to take on something new. The thought never left me, though.

When I was pregnant with Chloe, I told my husband we were going to do it–no more excuses! I don’t think Matt was too keen on the idea at first, but I went for it, anyway. I did some research and decided to use bumGenius 3.0, a one-size diaper. The product received a lot of great reviews, and they are so cute! Look at these beautiful colors!

My sister went in 50/50 with me as her baby shower gift to get me started with 12 diapers, and I am forever grateful to her for her contribution. While the initial investment was tough up front, we are saving a ton of money. Any parent knows how quickly a little one goes through diapers, and I am so thankful that diapers aren’t a part of our budget, anymore.

I have to admit, I was very nervous about the increase in laundry considering I never seem to have enough time as it is. Yes, I was having a difficult time at first but because I did not have enough diapers. The plan was to purchase the initial 12 with my sister and then get some more a few months later. Well, we had some unforeseen circumstances arise, and we never made that additional purchase. If you are considering using cloth diapers, I would recommend buying at least 16.

However, the actual washing of the diapers and keeping them clean is a piece of cake. I keep my diaper basket right in the laundry room, so when it’s full, I dump the diapers in the washer. I don’t have to sort or run upstairs, so washing the diapers is the easiest part of my laundry duty!

My husband and I decided I could get more diapers this month, and as luck would have it, my friend invited me to a diaper consultation at her home. Mommy Secrets came to her home and gave fabulous tips on entering the world of cloth diapers and babywearing. I purchased four more medium-sized diapers that they carried from the brand Happy Heiny’s. The brand uses the word ‘heiny,’ so I was sold.

I never would have thought that I could love cloth-diapering Chloe, but I do. The diapers are so soft to her skin, she rarely gets diaper rash, and when she has a diaper explosion (the only way I know to describe it!), she never leaks up out of the diaper because of the snug elastic. No more ruined baby outfits!!! And of course, I’m helping the environment.

I wrote this blog post not as a way of endorsing any product but to help other moms out there who might not know anything about cloth diapers. When I was pregnant with my first two kids, I didn’t have the knowledge I needed and figured this was one area of my life where I didn’t care about being green. However, if I could do over my first three years of being a mom, I would have bought cloth diapers when I was pregnant with Caleb. I would encourage any expectant mother, mom who currently has a kid in diapers and might have another baby, or even a mom who has at least another year of a kid in diapers to consider cloth.

What are you doing to help the environment that other women could do? Let’s all share our tips in the comment section and improve our quality of life!

About Quality of Life

A Little Drizzle

Note to myself: You actually wrote a good deal of this post last week but were interrupted many times from the kids and life. Tonight is the first chance you had to finish. Therefore, the ‘two Sundays ago’ and ‘yesterday’ and all time references aren’t accurate, anymore. Oh, well. You weren’t about to do the math to figure out the correct time, and your writing would’ve sounded weird, anyway. But for the sake of your memory, which isn’t very good, I thought I’d let you know about the inaccuracies.

Two Sundays ago, I remember lying in bed somewhat fearful. I’m not normally one to get afraid of thunderstorms, but when I saw the lightning strike right below my window and heard the electricity crackle in our outlets, I tensed up. Caleb had already joined Matt and me in bed and formed a ball beneath our comforter. I couldn’t see any part of him but would feel him move closer and closer against Matt and me with each pound of thunder that rattled the house. Even the rain was loud, as the storm seemed to intensify with every minute.

At one point in the night, Matt had gotten up to unplug everything in our room, but he was too late. The next morning, our upstairs air conditioner was broken, and our modem was fried, so I couldn’t use the internet or our house phone. I felt very inconvenienced and disconnected from the world. I typically don’t ever have the TV on during the day, and I normally put the radio on in the car when carting kids back and forth to preschool. Monday is their off day, though, so for most of the day, I was in my own bubble.

I had no idea what the storm was really like–only my perception of the events. It wasn’t until I spoke with my mom and learned of flooded roads that kept some of her co-workers from getting to work, heard from my husband that Gwinnett county had closed school, and saw pictures the next day of the Scream Machine roller coaster partially submerged in water that I began to understand the true intensity of this horrific thunderstorm.

Then the following day I read an article of a woman’s frantic call to 911 as she was trapped in her car less than a mile from her home. She was a mother. I saw another article of a toddler swept by the rushing water from his father’s grasp, a story that would stay with me as I imagined myself trapped in my van with my three children. Even if I were able to get my windows down in time and the door open, I can’t imagine a happy ending to this story…and my stomach is still in knots as I count my three blessings and think of that poor family grieving their loss, a family who didn’t have to imagine .

It’s amazing how one’s perspective can color an event. The storm that I found so terrible and frightening and inconvenient paled in comparison to what those around me were experiencing. Until I saw the damage elsewhere, I didn’t realize how blessed I was to be without air conditioning and a cable modem. As I moved through that week, the lessons God was teaching me were very apparent.

When Caleb was frightened the night of the storm, he didn’t cry in his room, he didn’t go downstairs and find comfort in a doughnut, and he didn’t turn on the TV. He came in his parents room and snuggled with his mom and dad. Yes, he was obviously frightened, but with each strike of lightening and clap of thunder, he moved a little closer to Matt or me. He found reassurance simply in our presence.

God wants me to do the same. Whether I am frightened by a little thunder or I can see the flood waters rising, my response should be the same–draw closer to Him. In doing so, He will give me peace and perspective. In the midst of my storm, I will be able to find that for which I should be thankful because there is always someone going through something worse, and at the same time, find reassurance that the Lord cares about my struggles, too. He just wants me to be honest about my struggles with Him.

And as with any lesson the Lord teaches me, He provided a pop-quiz to see what I actually retained….

****************************************

Yesterday morning, I managed to get my daughter’s tiny hair claw stuck on my tongue. I was rushing to get Caleb and Hannah Grace ready for preschool while trying to take care of Chloe, and I actually had a green clip hanging out of my mouth.

“Ha-uh, HOL SIL PEAS!” is not what I heard in my head but was what came out of my mouth, as I was trying to keep her from running out of the bathroom. I still needed to fix her hair (one side of her head already had a clip), so I was squeezing her with my thighs while trying to squeeze the little clip to release it from my tongue. It was so small, though, and slippery because of my saliva. I had never felt so ridiculous and knew my tongue would begin bleeding at any moment. The more I tried to pry it open, the tighter that stupid clip clamped down on my tongue.

Briefly, very briefly, I contemplated asking Caleb to help me, but he would’ve just pulled on the clip with my tongue attached. I hate to admit it, but I was a little scared. I was afraid that if I actually succeeded in removing this *cute* hair accessory, I might have a permanent hole in my tongue. Would pizza ever taste good again?

No sooner than I successfully transferred this demonic hair claw from my mouth to Hannah Grace’s hair, I noticed Chloe’s crying had risen to the next intensity level. She was across the hall playing in Hannah Grace’s room. I ran into the room to check on her and noticed she was on her stomach with her head under Hannah Grace’s dresser. I figured she didn’t know how to roll back out from under the dresser, so I proceeded to help pull her out, except she wasn’t budging. My baby had gotten her head stuck under her sister’s massive dresser.

I tried to lift the dresser, and it didn’t budge. I think my heart stopped for a second at that moment. What in the world was I going to do? I didn’t even know how long Chloe’s head had been stuck under the dresser, and I was terrified that her skull would get crushed. And then God gave me the Mom Adrenaline. I lifted that dresser and was so proud–until I noticed that Chloe was crying too hard to notice and wasn’t rolling away as a cooperative baby should’ve. Caleb and Hannah Grace were just looking on, probably paralyzed in fear as their mother was in a state of panic.

At this moment I was dumbfounded. Caleb, my son who has rolled his sister across the floor like a log was just standing there. “CALEB! ROLL CHLOE OUT!!” I screamed, to which he obliged.

And all was well again.

My heart proceeded to pound out of my chest for the rest of the day, and I was never so ready for bed that night. Unfortunately, Hannah Grace stayed up until midnight, refusing to sleep in her bed, and Chloe woke up at 1:30 ready to eat. And again every two hours until morning.

So, I have decided that today I am getting under the covers, curling up into a ball, and resting in my heavenly Father’s arms. It’s starting to rain outside, and I need a nap.

Forget the Baby Book

I make a lot of good intentions. One can witness this fact by the three baby books I bought for each child. I don’t always follow through on these intentions. One can also witness this fact when noticing Caleb’s baby book stops after one year, Hannah Grace’s is blank except for her birth announcement, and Chloe’s doesn’t even have a birth announcement.

Over Caleb’s three-and-a-half years, he has said some of the most amazing sentences to leave a baby’s mouth, and he gets funnier and funnier. Unfortunately, I’ve probably forgotten half of these anecdotes, but no more! Starting today, I WILL record the precious gems that leave all of my kids’ mouths!

Now, yes, I could record them in their cute baby books so they wouldn’t look so pathetic, but I’d probably become overwhelmed with guilt that I didn’t fill out the page asking for the price of bread on their birth dates. I’d spend the whole afternoon Google searching for this bit of trivia that I wouldn’t record the more interesting parts of the baby books–the parts about them.

So. While I don’t write in my blog as often as I’d like, I do write at least once a week, if not more. And while I don’t have much of a memory at this point, I have just enough brain cells left to remember one or two cute ramblings from the mouths of my babes, so below is where I will keep record. This blog will be on-going, and I will add their newest to the top of list. Enjoy!

Hannah Grace: (After I told her that her hair is beautiful) “No, it’s not; no, it’s not. My hair is AWESOME!” 5/10/2010

Hannah Grace: (from completely out of the blue) “Mom, we don’t say ‘tootie-butt.’ (Thank you for the reminder!)–1/6/2010

Caleb: “Mom, batteries don’t die! People die. Batteries stop working!” (I stand corrected)–Jan 2010

Hannah: (Caleb was antagonizing Hannah Grace, and he apologized by saying ‘I’m sorry, Hannah Potato’ and later ‘I’m sorry, Hannah Banana.’) “No, Caleb. That’s not right. You say, ‘I’m sorry, Hannah.”‘–1/5/2010

Caleb: “Hannah, I’ve sung the song for you three times, and every time I sing it makes me tired. I’m not going to sing it anymore!” (Hannah Grace loves “Single Ladies” by Beyonce, but we couldn’t get it to play on my phone. She would start to whine, so Caleb would sing the song for her with amazing accuracy)–1/2/2010

Hannah Grace: “Caleb, patience. Not now!” (In response to Caleb’s repeated request to watch his movie in the car even though he was told Hannah Grace got to listen to her song first.)–1/2/2010

Caleb: (We were walking outside of Barnes and Noble at the mall. Music was playing.) “Where is that music coming from? Me: “I’m not sure. I think there are some speakers outside the store somewhere.” Matt: “Why? Is the music bothering you?” Caleb: “Yes, it’s bothering me! It makes me want to die!”–12/19/09

Hannah Grace: “And God said, ‘Don’t eat the vegetables!” (referring to the Bible story of Adam and Eve where God says not to eat the fruit of the tree)–11/11/09

Caleb: “And then Jesus rubbed blood on the blind man’s eyes, and he could see again!” (the Scripture states that Jesus made mud and rubbed it on the blind man’s eyes)–11/11/09

Hannah Grace: “Where’d you put the gummies?” (she pointed her finger and asked Matt this question immediately as he walked into the house from work. I told her earlier in the day that I didn’t know where the gummies were; perhaps, her dad did)–11/11/09

Hannah Grace: “Daddy, you’re my boy.” –11/9/09 ( I think)

Caleb: (after I was explaining to Hannah Grace and him that they cannot play with my china–it’s Mommy’s special plates from when she got married) “I’m going to marry Hannah, and I’m going to give her special dishes. And on her birthday, I’m going to give her very, very, nice clothes.”–11/1/09

Hannah Grace: “Daddy’s my favorite friend”–9/29/09

Caleb: “Mommy, we can find a nice family and give them our dog.” Mommy: “What?! Why do you want to give away Scout?” Caleb: “I want a cat.”– 9/29/09

(Hannah Grace brought home from preschool blue-colored water in a bottle as part of the classes’ study of the color blue) Caleb: “Hannah, how did you get that blue in there? Did you squeeze a lemon?” –9/29/09

(in a bathroom stall at church, loudly so that the woman in the stall next to us could hear) Hannah Grace: “Can I see your penis?” Mommy: “No, because I’m a girl.”– 9/27/09

(in the bathroom at home) Hannah Grace: “Are you going to wipe my penis?” Mommy: “No, you don’t have a penis.” Caleb: “You don’t have a penis, Hannah! You have a hole.”– 9/26/09

Hannah Grace: (talking to Chloe) “Hello, sweetheart.” (To me) “Hers my darling. Hers my baby”–9/22/09

Hannah Grace : (referring to Chloe) “Hers not your baby. She’s Daddy’s” –9/18/09

Caleb: (Ready to go downstairs one morning, he yelled these sentences waiting for Matt to open the baby gate) “Come on, Dad! Let’s go! You’ve got work to do! You need to make money!”– 9/18/09

Mommy: “Eat your chicken, Caleb.” Caleb: “Chi-ken? Bock-bock?”–somewhere around a year old, a memory we don’t want to forget!

The Morning I Knew My Husband Really Loves Me

I previously had the idea that my children conspire to make certain nights hellish for my husband and me. I don’t think that they have a hushed meeting behind a closed closet door huddled around a flashlight while articulating their plan–that’s silly–our flashlight needs new batteries, and the baby can’t sit up. I am leaning toward the idea that their brains telepathically communicate that they should get up in the middle of the night. And often. And staggered.

It’s 12 A.M., and I decide that, perhaps, Chloe isn’t going to wake up soon to eat, so I should go ahead and get in a couple hours of sleep. At 12:15, I hear her little cry. I grab my glasses off my nightstand, amazed at how quickly I went from awake to asleep and now very groggy. I take my time swinging my feet over the side of the bed and listen as Matt gets up to change the baby. I go to meet him in her room; I’ll nurse her in the rocking chair. Instead, I meet Matt in the doorway.

“She just wanted her binky. She’s back asleep.”

I climb back in our bed that’s much too tall for me (although, I love it) and begin to snuggle under my sheet and next to Matt. The little cry returns.

“Uggh,” or some other kind of grunt leaves my mouth. I look over at Matt who decided he had already completed his duty and continue getting back down from our bed. I go into Chloe’s room and smile at this sweet baby who is looking up at me with the sleepiest little face. I pick her up and change her and then move us into the rocking chair. As she nurses, I relax into the chair, allowing my head to fall to the side and my body to melt into the cushions as much as possible while nursing in an upright position. When I don’t notice any more sucking, I gently pick up Chloe and lay her back down in her crib, positioning her binky back in her tiny mouth.

As I walk into my room, I look forward to the ascent into my bed, as Chloe should now have her long stretch of sleep. Maybe, tonight she’ll sleep eight hours straight as she did a few weeks ago. I take off my glasses and lay them on the nightstand and begin to drop next to Matt on my pillow when I hear footsteps scurrying down the hallway. Footsteps carry emotions with them, and these footsteps are carrying a scared little boy.

Caleb frantically bounds into our bed, and I try to suppress another “uggh” knowing that my little boy is scared.

“Come on, Caleb. I’ll lie down with you in your bed. Come on, buddy. Let’s go.”

I finally convince him that I’ll really follow if he gets out of my bed, and we jump down. We make a quick pit-stop to the potty, and then crawl into his little twin bed. I will myself not to fall asleep so as to be able to move my neck in the morning. When I am assured that Caleb is calm and sleeping, I trek back down the hallway and into my room.

I glance at the clock on Matt’s nightstand which now reads a little past 1 A.M. and muster up the strength to climb what now looks like Mt. Everest. It’s less than six hours before the alarm is supposed to wake me, but I welcome any sleep and snuggle next to Matt.

Chloe must read my thought and takes it literally because she awakes at 3:30 to which I announce, “I am not feeding her.” Matt quiets her but eventually brings her in our bed at 4:30 when she yells that she’s not kidding. I try to nurse her while lying down, even though I’m fairly certain that she’s not hungry. I don’t care; I just want to sleep, and if nursing Chloe will achieve that goal, so be it.

Unfortunately, Chloe doesn’t want to eat and squirms and cries.

“Maybe she’s uncomfortable. Let me get a diaper; you watch her,” I order Matt as I hop off the bed. I zig-zag down the hallway as a drunken woman looking for a drink, except I don’t need any help passing out. I have to descend our stairs to get a cloth diaper out of the dryer ( I really need to buy more of those things) and back up again. I change Chloe only to produce the same result–a squirmy, crying baby.

Back off the tallest bed in the world with Chloe in tow and onto her rocking chair. As I hold her close and softly sing, I feel her break wind against my hand and know the cause of her discomfort. We gently rock until she is finally soothed, and I lay her down in her crib.

It’s almost 5 A.M., and I wonder if it’s even worth climbing into bed but try once again. This time I don’t attempt any closeness with Matt, nor him with me. We are both curled into our own little cocoons of quiet, and I let sleep envelop me.

When Matt’s alarm goes off at 5:30 A.M, I am amazed that he actually gets out of bed. Guessing our talk about guarding our family time has hit home with him, I roll back over knowing Matt will be off to the gym soon. I hear the shower but am too tired to process what that sound means.

About 15 minutes later, I hear footsteps running down the hallway. This time, they carry the emotion of happiness with them, and a little boy bounds into my bed.

“Put Curious George on!” Caleb exclaims excitedly.

“Caleb, lay down and go to sleep. It’s not even 6:00!” I grunt, but Caleb is wide awake. When I beg him again in a tone that is much harsher than I intend, he plops off the bed and in a pile on the floor. I quickly apologize and plead with him to lie down next to me in bed. We can snuggle.

Caleb complies, but all of these dramatics have roused me. I know I will not sleep any more this morning.

When Matt finally comes out of the bathroom dressed, I ask him, “What are you doing? I mean, why are you up so early if you’re not going to the gym.”

“I wanted to get in early in case I have to leave to help you out.”

As I push through the fog of thoughts in my mind–Does he think I might fall asleep and need someone to watch the kids? Is he afraid I’m going to hurt the kids?!–I understand his statement.

“My doctor’s appointment is tomorrow, Matt.”

I very well may have told Matt that I was looking for someone to watch the kids today, Thursday, instead of Friday. I don’t know. What I do know is the look of utter dejection on my husband’s face when he realized he had woken up at 5:30 A.M. on no sleep for nothing. And in that moment, I knew he must love me more than anything.

For weeks, months, years, Matt has tried to wake up early in order to get to the gym before work instead of after. His pattern of hitting the snooze button for two hours straight has become a sore spot in our marriage. He cannot seem to wake up early for anything, yet he did it, on maybe two hours of solid sleep, for me.

As tired as I am, I stare at him from amidst the covers and pillows and feel a warmth inside I hadn’t quite felt in such a way before. We kiss, say our “I love you’s,” and Matt heads down the hallway only to return a moment later with another child.

“She’s awake, too?” I question incredulously as Matt puts Hannah Grace in bed with me.

“Yes. She was just standing at the baby gate staring.”

I can only smile and officially get up to get the kids ready for preschool. I have the fleeting thought that they will nap well today, but I know better than to believe such an idea.

I’ve never been a coffee-drinker, but I think today might be a good day to start.